


fleeting

by lycanthus (timedilations)



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 09:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10554036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timedilations/pseuds/lycanthus
Summary: Jonah doesn't want anyone to get close.Original, short oneshot. A tiny bit of smut.





	

He doesn’t seem to know what he does to you. How his skin feels on yours. The smile always ready to curl at the corners of his mouth. He keeps himself well groomed, supple and smelling fresh like the shampoo he uses. And of course, his clothing. He always takes great care to frame his hips, his legs, his shoulders, the back of his neck. He chooses the colors he wears carefully– black makes his skin stand out. Pink makes him look soft, vulnerable– and it works wonders.

He smiles when he sees you. The same expression he always seems to have on. He automatically wraps his arms around yours while carrying a conversation with another bar goer before waving to them as they walk away. And then, he pulls you gently out the door– to your car.

You lay down on the backseat. He’s too tall to straddle you, but it doesn’t stop him from trying– sliding his body against yours as he grinds against you. He’s done this a million times but the feeling is the same as the first time he’s ever done it. Back then, you were drinking alone in a bar, five or six beers sitting next to you and you were too drunk to make it home. He saw you, sat next to you and started chatting you up and you were too drunk to give a fuck at that point. And too distracted by the little ways he’d make contact– whether it was sitting a little too close or the faintest of touches as he reached across the bar counter. His hand on your thigh. Somehow yours found its way to his, and you noticed he didn’t push you away.

One thing led to another and you were fucking in your apartment, driven home by taxi.

Now he brings your awareness back to the forefront of your mind. He’s doing that coy thing with his mouth again, biting a little in such a way that makes you want to bite it for him. You pull his head down on top of yours and press his mouth against yours and he fills it with soft, pleasant noises that go straight to your dick. He’s too cute and you can’t stop yourself anymore– not unless he says no.

But the never does. He keeps smiling, as if he didn’t know how to stop in the first place.

“Ruben,” he whispers. Your name. “I wanna fuck.”  
You tell him you’re both in a parking lot. During business hours.  
“Then let’s get out of here.”

You take him back home where he’s half undressed by the time he gets through your door. The pink sweater that hung loosely on his body gets tossed to the side to make room for your roaming hands on his waist. He puts his arms around you and does that thing with his eyes again that makes you want to kiss between them over and over and he wraps his arms around your neck again and whispers dirty things against your lips and it makes you growl in response, dragging down his too-tight jeans and pulling them off him and you can’t do it fast enough because you want him _now_ and you get down and take him into your mouth and he inhales sharply and the sound he makes when you hallow your cheeks you swear is _**divine**_.

It isn’t long until he’s weak at the knees and you’re hard as a fucking rock, him tumbling onto the bed, onto your unfolded sheets and crumpled blankets and you swear he looks so good against them, naked like that. He’s still smiling, and this time you’re hovering over him and smiling back until you lean down and kiss his head, a rubbing his cheek a little with your stubble, and he complains that you’re scratching him and you tell him that you love him right then and there.

That’s when the smile disappears.

Your heart feels like it stops for a full minute before you realize only a few seconds pass. He’s looking away and his expression is only barely readable.

You ask him if you did something wrong.

“No,” he says. “No, you didn’t.”

You say he’s a liar. He doesn’t reply right away.

“There’s… there’s nothing wrong with you,” he says. “It’s…”

It’s? You echo.

“It’s just that you barely know me.”

You can’t say anything to this because despite all the times you’ve fucked and all the times he’s spent late nights at your place and in your arms, it feels like, after all this time, he’s no closer to you than the day you met. He looks at the the same way he does anyone else– with the same eyes that make you feel like he’s only ever been looking at you. You’ve been jealous. Plenty of times. He knows this too– although you try to control it, it shows on his thighs and wrists, in the nail marks you leave that last until morning.

Doesn’t look like there’ll be a morning after now. Jonah sits up and you let him and he doesn’t look at you anymore. He’s no longer smiling, just standing up and fetching his clothes and you’re dumbfounded, sitting on the edge of your bed, naked, with a dying boner.

“You should get dressed,” he says, “unless you’re gonna…”

You ask him if he’s leaving. You realize a few moments too late that the question’s pointless.

“Do you want me to stay?”

You ask him what he thinks and he smiles just a little.

“I can’t. Sorry.”

Why?

“I… I shouldn’t be messing around with you like this. It’s unfair to you.”

You tell him if you didn’t want it, you would’ve kicked him out of bed the first time around. That gets a laugh out of him, but it feels hollow. You don’t think it was that funny either.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right, huh?”

He pulls on his jeans again. You ask him to stay when he gets to the third button and he stops and walks over to you. There’s an expression on his face you’ve never seen before and it’s unbearable to see him look so _sad_ and so unlike himself and then he cups your face in his both his hands and kisses you, long and deep, the way you think lovers would kiss and for a moment you forget everything that just happened, his tongue pushing away your thoughts.

But it soon, too, is over. And he pulls away, wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and picks up his sweater next to your door.

“Please don’t call me again.”

He leaves without putting it on.

**Author's Note:**

> I love exploring Jonah's relationships. He's the kind of person who wants to be close to others desperately, but is too afraid to let them in for whatever various reasons he has. I'll write something about that later.
> 
> This is actually an old piece, but I figure I'd start posting my stuff to AO3 for once.


End file.
